“What’s the name of that song?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s called ‘Jacob’s Song’ by Briana Babinueax or Bri for short.” Her eyes dipped.
“It’s a religious song.”
She nodded. “I know you’re an atheist, but it reminds me of you a little bit.”
I lifted her hand to my lips. “For the first time, I don’t mind it.” I rolled back over to my back, keeping her hand to my abdomen.
“Were you always an atheist?”
I shrugged. “We went to church every weekend. Sat in the front pew every damn Sunday. And then returning to our house felt like entering hell. I couldn’t reconcile a supposedly loving God that allowed my home to be filled with such pain. And I couldn’t stand supposedly religious and devout people who overlooked things they knew were happening. Not just to me or my home life, but …” I shook my head.
“I get it.”
I faced her. “Do you?”
She nodded. “I’m not an atheist, but the things we see sometimes … Even in our line of work. It makes you wonder.”
I turned my gaze to the ceiling, nodding.
No more was said after that as we laid there silently, enjoying the closeness of one another until we fell asleep.
****
When my eyes sprang open, the nervous feeling I had the first time wasn’t there. No, I wasn’t in my own bedroom but this one had come to feel more and more familiar.Almost as if it’s home.I quickly shook that thought free. Grace and I had only been together about a month and a half, it was way too soon for me to get to thinking of her place as my home.
But even as I tried to force myself to think rationally, her lingering scent in the linens warmed something deep in my belly. It wasn’t unusual for her to wake up before me. She often left me sleeping while she got up to shower and fix breakfast for the both of us. As I stood up to stretch the kinks from the night out, I heard the shower running and instantly, my legs headed in that direction. All I could think of was the night before and other nights we’d spent in her bed, but Grace had never fully bared herself to me. I wanted to see her, all of her.
I slid into the steamy bathroom without making much noise, and in two steps I was yanking the shower curtain back.
“Wha—” Grace yelled, jumping as she turned to face me, her arms instantly going to cover her breasts. “Get out!” she yelled.
Her tone screamed angry and surprised, but her eyes—those brown pools—read afraid.
I stared into her eyes, my expression unflinching as I raised my leg to step fully into the shower. Her eyes glanced all over my body, her lower lip sucked in between her teeth when she caught sight of my half erect cock pointing toward her.
“Jacob, I’m not done showering.” Her eyes went to the shower curtain as I pulled it closed, caging us in.
“Move your hands, Grace.”
She shook her head.
Lowering my face to hers, I kissed her lips. My hands went to her wrists. “Move your hands, baby.” It wasn’t a question, but the order had come out patiently. Fear already glittered in those eyes of hers and that cut me deeper than anything. I didn’t want to alarm her any more than she already was. But I needed to see all of her.
The muscles in her arms relaxed slightly, and slowly—half inch by half inch—she allowed me to pull her arms away from her breasts. I stared into her eyes at first. They grew watery.
Gradually, I moved my gaze lower from her eyes, to the rest of her face, her neck, the top of her chest, and then to her left breast. My cock twitched at the sight of the perfectly formed, caramel brown globe with the darker brown areola and pert nipple. I let my gaze shift to her right breast and it wasn’t the same perfection as the left. In place of where her nipple should’ve been, was a long, healed-over scar. It was a scar I’d seen many times on women who came to me for reconstructive surgery after surviving breast cancer.
I looked back up to Grace. “How long ago?”
“Five years,” she whispered.
I did the quick math. “You were twenty-six.” My eyes went back to her scars.
“Twenty-five at the age of diagnosis and the mastectomy. Followed by a year of chemo and radiation.”
I swallowed, knowing the regiment well.
